behind the closed eyelids
by Lady Genna
Summary: Tezuka and Fuji. A fic on growing up, on meeting people in foreign lands, and on recognising where one's feelings lay.


Notes: I should stop writing Gen fics and do something about all those random pairings of mine lying all over the place. May contain spoilers for the manga and anime. I've used a blend of anime and manga-- Tezuka going to Germany is all I took from the anime. (Because I want him to be further than just a few prefectures away.) The rest of the story will follow the manga storyline.

* * *

behind the closed eyelids  
by _Lady Genna_

1.

He had never once believed that the world was small and random enough that people who looked even vaguely similar could appear in different parts of the world, across different cultures, with different personalities, but possessed features or characteristics that were identical to the point of uncanniness. Of course, Inui would probably attempt to refute him, and come up with some numbers for that off-hand notion of his, so he thought it was best to not tempt fate where such things were concerned.

That was why Tezuka honestly didn't think he would run into a Fuji Syuusuke look-alike in Germany.

He wasn't even thinking about Fuji-- just the team in general, wondering about how they were faring while he was here in Germany attempting to recover as fast as it was possible, to get well in time to join them for the Nationals. Initially, he thought it was a perfectly executed plan thought up by Fuji, simply because the prodigy was the only person on his team who had the time and the personality quirk to want to pull off jokes of such level.

After the first five minutes of confusion and much apologising in his slightly tacky German, Tezuka realised that the person who was standing before him murmuring softly in perfect German couldn't possibly be Fuji. He even had the same mildly bemused look, and it was only after much careful thought that Tezuka didn't drag the poor boy off to a private corner, in order to give him a good lecture on the finer points of where the limits of a joke could go.

He had the same blue eyes, but instead of looking into him the way Fuji's always did, they merely looked at him and saw him for who he was. The same loose, chin-length hair, the same closed-eyed smile... the similarities were almost frightening in the way that even all the little details had been correct. Perhaps, his eyes were a tad bluer than Fuji's, and the hair slightly more tawny, but Tezuka couldn't be sure. It had been months since he last saw Fuji, after all.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he didn't have to be too worried about seeing the real Fuji again anytime soon.

For many years, Tezuka had often wondered about Fuji and the effect the latter always managed to have on his life. There was a word in Japanese, _sunao_, which could be roughly translated into being unaffected, but not quite. Unfortunately, Fuji had the exact opposite effect on his life, and he couldn't help wondering why that was so.

It took years of practice, and no small amount of self-constraint on his end to ensure that Fuji survived all three years of junior high intact and sane. Let it not be said that Tezuka didn't have a single vindictive bone in him, because he did, and he made sure to use it well when the rare occasion arose.

Tezuka later found out that the German boy was from the same medical facility he was under, and he was there for treatment as well. Unlike Fuji, he wasn't gifted with the ability to play tennis with little to no problems, but unlike Fuji again, he didn't keep his eyes closed during matches. It must have been some strange curiosity on his end which caused the odd question to rise, and the boy had looked at him in a strange manner before saying, 'I don't who is this genius you know that looks like me, but I certainly can't play tennis with my eyes closed. Not if I want to return the shot.'

It was strangely refreshing to speak to someone who played tennis _normally_, but also extremely disconcerting, since it came from the face of a person who looked like Fuji. Granted, the German didn't walk around with his eyes closed either, but that just increased the disconcerting feeling by about a tenfold.

Some would call it years of ingrained habit-- he would like to think it had more to do with the way Fuji liked to randomly terrify all those people he found amusing. And unfortunately for Tezuka, he fell straight into that category from day one. His brain had long since learned to recognise the signs; an opened-eyed Fuji often heralded nothing but bad news for him as the captain of a slightly out of hand tennis club.

He even texted Oishi about it, just to make sure that whoever he met _really_ wasn't Fuji, and eventually received a reply from an extremely bemused Oishi. The vice-captain said that Fuji had been behaving himself so far (that wasn't something he felt reassured hearing, strangely). Also, Fuji hadn't been making any strange trips out of the country, and neither was he learning German.

He didn't run into the German boy again after that, his schedule keeping him on his toes for most of the time. But each time he thought he saw a flash of golden-brown hair within the medical facilities (and there were many of such flashes, due to the fact that he was in a foreign land where there was practically no black hair present) he thought not of the stranger he met in Germany, but of Fuji, with his closed-eyed smiles, and the way he would talk, so lightly and softly, the memory always managed to cut with a kind of precise and slightly uncomfortable sharpness.

Soon, even that encounter became a matter he gradually forgot about, concentrating on studying and training at the same time.

One fine Sunday morning, while he was resting in his dorm wondering about Monday's schedule, he received a call from someone he wasn't expecting.

"Good morning, Tezuka."

The greeting, said in Japanese-accented German, should have served as a warning, but his alarms chose to be defunct at that extremely vital moment.

"Good morning," Tezuka replied, trying to pin the voice to a face and failing. "I'm sorry, but you are...?"

There was a small pause, but the caller appeared to recover his dignity with little problem. "I should have known that you would say that."

Tezuka waited, eyebrows raised, counting the number of water spots on his ceiling.

"This is Atobe Keigo. And if you dare to tell me you don't remember who I am, I'm going to fly over to Germany just to smack you, Tezuka." There was something slightly miffed in the way Atobe spoke, and Tezuka couldn't help smiling, just a little.

"Ahh," he closed his eyes, the image of his room's fluorescent light imprinted starkly against the darkness behind his eyelids. "It's been a while, Atobe. How are you?"

The icy tone was familiar. "I'm fine thank you."

Tezuka realised rather belatedly -after he had put down the phone for five minutes, in fact- that Atobe had spoken to him in Japanese for most of their hour long conversation.

The realisation left a strange taste at the back of his mouth, and he suddenly forgot how to converse in Japanese for the rest of that evening.

* * *

2.

He didn't manage to return to Japan in time for the Nationals. Instead, he had remained stuck in Germany for the next two years, due to his shoulder injury initially, and then, due to the fact that he had been offered a scholarship at a prestigious local German university.

Despite what he chose to do, he still thought about Seigaku often, the team he left behind in his pursuit for bigger dreams. He couldn't quite claim himself to be fickle-minded, because he wasn't. But... yes, there was something, a part of him which told him to behave in the way a captain should, perhaps, which he left behind in Japan. He had wondered since then if the others would be angry at him for breaking his promise, and then he realised that they would probably understand.

All of them dreamed for tennis, that was why.

He wouldn't be surprised if he met any of them at the professional circuits in the near future-- since everyone on his team had the potential to meet him there. Would they be angry at him for breaking promises? Surprised that he was still alive? Or perhaps, they would be annoyed by his mere presence, but they would be too polite to say so? He didn't want to speculate.

In the coming summer, he would head for his first international game in France. The edgy feeling in his heart hadn't really felt like anticipation, but he wasn't sure what it could be otherwise. Either way, he was all prepared to learn from his participation there, simply because he was still so new, and there were still so many things for him to understand about tennis.

He met Ryoma on the first day of the competition.

Strangely, the first person who came to mind wasn't Oishi or Ryoma himself, or any other person whom he would usually think of when reminiscing his Seigaku days.

Tezuka thought about Fuji, about his smile, and whether the prodigy played tennis, still.

The nonplussed look on Ryoma's face was a familiar one though, and it was somewhat relieving to hear that the younger boy was no longer running after him, and he had found his own dreams to pursue in tennis. Compared to Tezuka, Ryoma had more qualifying points on his record, and he guessed that might have been the result of the head-start Ryoma got on his professional career while he lived in America.

"How's everyone?"

Ryoma eyed him, almost warily. "I thought Oishi-senpai texts you often regarding the status of our tennis team."

"Ahh, I'm afraid that I've lost contact with him..." Tezuka trailed off, wondering if it was an acceptable excuse.

"Too busy?" The raised eyebrow, the little quirk at the corner of his lips... it felt as if Ryoma hadn't changed despite the years.

The younger boy still looked the same, albeit much taller now than before, his thin body filling out into a nicely muscled form. His face was sharper too, but other than the increase in height, the changes weren't immediately noticeable. For the briefest of moments, Tezuka entertained the thought that time had stopped while he continued moving on, leaving every single important person in his life behind.

"You can say that." Tezuka nodded slightly.

"Everyone's still the same. I'm still studying at Seigaku, but I'll be moving back to America after I graduate next spring. The stupid old man said I will have better chances of entering international competitions if I continue playing at the circuits in America instead of Japan." As Ryoma talked, he plucked at the strings on his racket in a distracted manner.

"Your father is correct."

"Maybe. Fuji-senpai has stopped playing tennis though. He said he has no reasons to do so anymore."

He didn't know what to say in reply, because he was the one who asked Fuji to stay -asked him to continue playing, even- and then abandoned him in the first place. Maybe, if he had been more careful, less selfish... things would have been different. But he didn't dare to hope and he certainly didn't want to ask Fuji to wait for his return.

"Oh," Ryoma spoke up suddenly, as if recalling something. "Fuji-senpai sends his regards."

There was a pause, while Tezuka contemplated the meaning behind Ryoma's rather ambiguous sentence. "He knew you'll be meeting me here?"

His former junior then smiled, sharp. "Oh, you know Fuji-senpai. He has an uncanny knack for finding people, even when they don't want to be found."

Later, as Tezuka was warming up for his first match of the season, he couldn't help wondering about the concealed barbs in Ryoma's words, and whether they were meant to injure or if this was just the recalcitrant part of his personality that never seemed to change.

He then thought about Fuji, whose words always had another layer of meaning underneath them.

Maybe, two years ago, he could still second-guess each and every of Fuji's movements and speech patterns. But he had chosen to go away, to forget, to leave behind memories that were once important to him for something that was part of a bigger dream which he had to realise alone.

Tezuka lifted his face and gazed at the sky, the wide expanse of endless blue reminding him of Fuji's eyes.

Maybe it was time he went home.

* * *

3.

Tezuka did a course on Japanese popular culture while he was in Germany as a type of recreational subject while he toiled away for his core subjects, mostly related to sports medicine and physiology. It was kind of ironic if one thought about it, since he was Japanese, and he was learning about his country's culture through the eyes and words of people who weren't Japanese in origin.

Many had various perceptions of how the Japanese society functioned, and it would be difficult to explain to them exactly how and why the people of that country had turned out as such, unless they were Japanese to begin with. In a way, Japan had been elitist in their own manner, retaining a culture and social lifestyle which people who lived outside of it would never understand.

Even foreigners who had stayed in Japan for over a decade would still be a foreigner in their eyes, because the very notion of being _Japanese_ was something which the people felt they had to be born with. He could have made some observations and submitted them to his teacher, as a form of continual assessment, but he eventually thought better of it, recalling the number of years he had been in Germany, and the inaccuracy of human memories.

When he first arrived in Germany three years ago, the differences surprised him. Unlike Japan, or central Tokyo, to be precise, Germany's shops did not open past six o'clock in the evening. He ate mostly at his dorm, but the need for something different often found him outside of his school or medical facility, wandering amongst the foreign crowd feeling like a fish swimming against a tireless current.

Japanese popular culture was an endlessly changing part of their society, like quicksilver, like the fickle emotions of women, like brief flashes of bright scales against the smooth surface of lakes. What was vogue and regarded as respectable today might no longer be so when tomorrow arrived, the continuously changing trends and laws of fashion a part of its strange charm.

Many people couldn't understand how the Japanese mind worked, and Tezuka thought that if a person was to write a book on it, he might have to spend the rest of his life researching the very essence of Japanese ideals. The Japanese believed in different 'faces', believed in dealing with different people using different manners of speech, mostly according to social status, and believed that being part of the dull, drab masses was a form of reassurance.

For example, it would be impossible to tell people about how the Japanese wore certain 'faces' for dealing with certain people, and expect those people to understand the reasons for such unsaid laws being in existence. Some might call them hypocrites, but the Japanese had the opinion that this was the most polite way of dealing with other people in the society.

Tezuka flew back to Japan about eight months after he met Ryoma, an emotion like something close to anticipation chewing his heart from inside out throughout the entire flight.

Returning to Japan was like giving his system a mild electric shock, the years he had been away from his homeland opening his eyes to the flaws of their culture. He wasn't complaining about his country because he was a traditionalist by nature, but he couldn't help wondering about the thoughts great men of former decades had entertained while gazing upon their country after being exposed to western influence.

Some of the people whom he thought he once knew had changed, while others remained the same. One fact which he could never ignore would be the acknowledgement he received from both his family and friends. He was Japanese from birth, and he would stay as Japanese until death. He might have picked up some new habits, some strange ideals along the way, but nothing would change the core of who he was, and nothing would change his origin of birth.

The visit he made to Ryuuzaki surprised his former coach, and he couldn't help feeling guilty for never warning her about what he was going to do back then. He later visited the rest of his former teammates at senior high, realising how time had moved him into a place which he couldn't return from anymore. Of all the people he met that day, only one meeting stood out in his mind, sharp and brightly coloured against the rest.

"It's been a while, Tezuka." There was an unchanging element about Fuji's smile, and he recognised that fact. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine," Tezuka nodded slightly. "What about you? I heard that you've stopped playing tennis."

Fuji's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and Tezuka realised that this was the very first time he noticed that detail since he got to know the other. "Ahh, Echizen must have told you. Well... it's true, isn't it? I have no reasons to play tennis anymore. There are no more dreams left in tennis for me, so naturally, I stopped playing it."

"But the game-"

"Is in my blood, yes, I know that." The smile didn't even waver. "But my heart is no longer in the game, and isn't that far more important than realising that there are still matches unrealised for a distant ambition? We have all grown up, ne. ...It's time to let go of silly notions."

"They're not silly-"

"Maa, for you, maybe they aren't. But for me, they are... I'm a person who doesn't like to harbour unrealistic dreams. And I believe we are the best judges of ourselves, ne? I know where my limits lie. What about you, Tezuka? Do you know where the road ahead will end at? Can you see it? Do you think you can reach it? Ahh, I'm sorry if I've been too probing... I just thought that you might be interested to know."

After Fuji wandered away with a polite smile and promises to remain in contact, Tezuka couldn't help wondering if he had suddenly stopped being able to understand Japanese, or if Fuji was doing that just to get a reaction out of him.

Had he really been away for that long?

And somehow, he knew that it wasn't a question meant for him to answer alone.

* * *

4.

"You have changed."

Tezuka almost smiled, knowing that it would be too much to expect tact from Atobe. It wasn't as if the latter was rude, or clueless with the way he used words. He was simply direct, backed with confidence and pride, knowing that there were things which he could get away with doing and saying.

He used to dislike Atobe for being so transparent about certain things, but three years in Germany taught him to appreciate the other's diplomacy.

"Yes, I believe so." Tezuka stirred the cooling cup of coffee almost idly, wondering about Fuji and what he said. "A different living environment has the tendency to do that to people."

"Hm," Atobe continued, unperturbed by what he said. "You're less frigid, for one thing."

He decided to take that as a compliment eventually.

"Thank you." Tezuka nodded slightly in acknowledgement, wondering about the kind of reaction Atobe would have if he had burst out laughing in reply.

The other only smiled, extravagant. "It's always my pleasure to inform you of where you need self-improvement, Tezuka."

He parted from Atobe feeling strangely tired, wondering if it was a gift or a curse that he got to know the other boy at all. He didn't have time to linger much on these thoughts, since his time in Japan was limited and there were still many other people whom he wanted to meet.

The one week he spent in Japan was littered with meetings from people he knew, people whom he was familiar with and unfamiliar with. It felt as if his absence had only managed to make them fonder of him, all of them missing him terribly while he was gone. He was strangely amused by the fact that none of these people had wanted to talk to him much when he was in Japan.

People grew up, and then they change.

It was something Fuji said a long time ago while standing beside him watching the tennis match of a player who had promises to become great, murmuring softly to himself or to Tezuka, he wasn't sure. But he remembered what Fuji said, like how he remembered many other things regarding the other boy, those fragments of memories sticking to him regardless of what he had done and experienced in life.

He recalled the way Fuji would sometimes gesture when he talked, those slender wrists looking fragile and pale in the different shades of light. He remembered the younger boy's smile, all full of curved lines and unspoken danger, the purpose for its existence only something Fuji himself would know. He also remembered, in flashes of unconnected images, things regarding a boy he had come to remember and regret over.

Things like how his hair was often easily teased by the breeze when he was standing still; the way he held his racket, like he was preparing for a battle or a leisurely run on the courts; his voice, soft and gentle, sharp and clean, like a gradually fading memory of sharp blades breaking skin.

He wanted to speak to Fuji again.

Before he left for Germany once more, he wanted to speak to Fuji again, to add on to the collection of memories which he couldn't seem to let go of.

The need came from his heart, but the part of his body which made the final decision was his brain. There were some things in his life-- things which had been blatant before his eyes, reminding him to make decisions, reminding him to believe in people, reminding him of dreams he had forgotten. Fuji was an advocator of those things; he was the inspiration, the single spark that was needed to set a forest on fire.

"I'll be... going back soon." The scenery of a tennis court, no matter familiar or unfamiliar, was strangely soothing.

"Nn," Fuji smiled, keeping his fingers laced and hands resting limply on his lap. "I know. Do take care."

"I will. Thank you."

They sat there in silence, listening to the silence of the neighbourhood and the occasional rattle of a train going by overhead.

_Here is where everything begins. And ends._

They had a private match once, a long time ago, to decide who was better. This place was supposed to be a sanctuary to that memory, but he guessed he broke his promise when he brought Ryoma there to have a match against him. Maybe he was selfish, because he wanted to see how far ahead he had to set the line for Ryoma to catch up to, but he couldn't help doing some of the things he did, simply because.

"Don't stop dreaming for tennis." Tezuka finally murmured, standing up.

Fuji took a while to reply, and when he did, there was something sad about the way he phrased his reasons for stopping tennis. "I have no more dreams left to hold onto."

"I'll give you mine."

"I don't want to live in another person's dreams."

"Then maybe we can share it."

Stubborn, the both of them. It was the very part of their personalities which drew them to each other almost irresistibly, two strong, opposing forces meeting head on due to a common characteristic. He was almost thankful for that similarity, because it was the last fading connection he had with Fuji, and he didn't want to let go of those people he didn't want to forget.

"Ahh," finally, Fuji too, stood up to join him. "Maybe."

"Maybe." He agreed, closing his eyes.

A person couldn't lose what he never had, that was what people often said.

But he was sure he wouldn't lose Fuji though; not to time, not to selfish ambitions, not to solitude and bitterness. They had one last common dream, which was tennis, and in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he could see it, stark and clear, bright against his memories.

Their future was beckoning.

Now all he had to do was get there.

* * *

Addendum:  
-sighs blissfully- It feels oddly good to finish this fic despite what I've said about writing Gen fics. Inconclusive and leads to nowhere, yes. But... it can be looked at as a ZukaFuji in the slanted sense, I guess.


End file.
